“What was that?”
“Dirt and mud,” he said slowly. “And I know what you two are doing. I won’t stand for it. Two can play this game.”
“Yeah, but only two will win.” Jordan nodded. “And by the sounds coming from our apartment and the silence coming from yours, well . . .”
Max scowled. “I had no partner!”
“Still lost.” Jordan shrugged. “You do know that only winners get prizes, right?”
“You.” Max pointed his finger in her direction just as the elevator doors opened. “I may have underestimated you.”
“That’s a compliment,” I mused.
“It’s all you’re getting!” Max yelled. “Also, thought you guys might want to check this out.” He tossed his cell in the air. I caught it and looked at the screen: REID EMORY TAMES PUBLICIST #THEARCH.
“What’s that?” Jordan looked over my shoulder.
I shoved the phone in my pocket. “Nothing.”
“Dude, not your phone.” Max held out his hand.
Panicking, I wasn’t sure what to do.
Max decided for me when he shoved his hand in my pocket, missing my balls by only a centimeter, and snatched his phone back, then read aloud what I’d just read silently as to not piss Jordan off and send her and her hair on a witch hunt through the city in which she tried to confiscate all forms of technology.
“I’m a hashtag,” she said in a monotone voice.
“Cheer up.” Max grinned. “It could be worse.”
I opened my mouth, but Jordan smacked me in the chest. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
The elevator hit the bottom floor. Max waved. “Toodles. Have fun at work today, kids. Try to play nice. Oh.” He snapped his fingers and turned. “Also, Jordan you may have flashed some boob in that video, but don’t worry, I highly doubt anyone will notice.”
Jordan lunged.
I jerked her back by her purse.
“Let me at him,” she seethed.
“That’s what he wants . . . you to chase him so he can record it and put it on YouTube with the hashtag #hairchasesmandownstreet.”
Jordan touched her hair. “Hey, it’s in a bun today.”
“Putting your hair in a bun is like wearing tight pants on Thanksgiving. Eventually the stuffing’s gonna pop right on out.”
“Wow, should have saved that romance for the video.”
“Unfair! You’re just pissed because I was right and because you did arch, you little archer!”
“I was sitting at a weird angle!”
“So you arched ten times beneath my touch? Because of the angle of your ass?”
Jordan’s eyes went crazy as a stray hair spiked up out of her bun. “I’m so glad I didn’t have sex with you last night, because I’d so be regretting it this morning.”
My body tensed while both my heads screamed, “Abort, abort!” Arguing with her meant no sex, no naked time, no Jordan, but words just kept pouring out of my mouth. It was an out-of-body experience. Like watching myself dig the hole I was going to be buried in. I wanted to stop, but jump I did. “Honey, the only thing you’d be regretting is that I wouldn’t be giving you a repeat performance!”
“Like you could even perform without injuring yourself!”
The dirt piled over my head, I could barely see the sky, yet I continued digging the hole because my manhood was at stake even though I wanted her—desperately. She attacked my sexual prowess—nobody does that to an Emory, least of all me. “You’re just mad because you didn’t get an orgasm!”
Yeah, may have said that a bit loud.
At least ten phones were thrust in our direction, smiles on people’s faces. Great, glad I made their Saturday morning!
Jordan swallowed, then looked shyly around while I cursed and searched for my sunglasses.
“Ten bucks orgasm’s the new hashtag by noon,” Jordan said under her breath, grabbing me by the arm and jerking me into the outside air.
“Twenty.” I coughed uncomfortably and looked up and down the street, anywhere but directly at her face.
“Reid.” Jordan snapped her fingers in front of me, like you would do to a dog when you were trying to teach it a new trick. I’d be insulted if I wasn’t still so sexually frustrated that my eyes lingered a bit too long on the hot dog stand. It was like a gentle reminder that my hot dog should be doing no standing, none at all. “We’re adults. We can get through this. I only have a few more things scheduled for us over the next few days and then I think we’ll be past the worst of it. This little . . . thing will be done.”
For some reason that made that stupid heartburn come back full force. I cleared my throat and clenched my jaw. “Fine.”
“Fine.”